


If Things Were Different

by DrownedTrying



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marble Hornets
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Creepy, Creepypasta, Death, F/M, Help, Minor Character Death, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weapons, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:39:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedTrying/pseuds/DrownedTrying
Summary: Twenty-one. The age everyone waits eagerly for, the day you discover who your soulmate and who your enemy are. Two different people, two different stories.Everything changes the night of your twenty-first birthday when something unexpected happens. Your luck has always been shit, but this time, it'd be bad enough to kill you.Considering, of course, they don't do it first.(Dark!Ticci Toby x Reader)





	1. Chapter One

Y/N - Your Name  
BFF/N - Best Friend's Name  
B/N - Brother's Name  
N/N - Nick Name  
F/C - Favorite Color  
Y/S - Your Street  
Y/T - Your Town

Tomorrow is your twenty-first birthday. The day you can legally consume alcohol, the day you can work part-time at the creepiest antique store down by the crumbled walls of an old church.

The day you find out the names of your soulmate and your enemy.

Everyone waited impatiently for that day to come. One wrist showed the name of your soulmate, whilst the other showed the name of your enemy. No one ever knew which is which until they met them, and even then, it could take years before they realized who is who. That doesn’t always mean they loved their soulmate and hated their enemy, though. One of your friends from college is madly in love with his enemy, but hates his soulmate. You don’t know why, and you’d rather never find out. That’s his personal information, so why should you pry?

You glanced at the people around you: your parents, your grandmother, your younger brother, and your best friend. They were watching any clock they can find, desperately waiting for 11:59 to turn to midnight. The gifts they brought were opened and neatly put away, the cake was eaten with two or three slices left over, and the drinks, both alcoholic and non, were out, bubbles finding their way to the surface as the beverages waited to be drank. Nervous excitement squished around in your stomach, momentarily making you feel sick. What if it wasn’t as great as everyone hoped it would be?

“Happy twenty-first birthday, (Y/N),” (BFF/N) said, turning to grin at you. A chorus of ‘happy birthday!’s rang out, everyone looking at your wrists in excitement. You held your breath and stared at your wrists. At first, nothing happened. Then you noticed a dark teal ink begin to take shape on your right wrist.

 _Toby_ was written sloppily on your wrist, almost as if the male had jerked his hand while writing his own name. A squeal from your grandmother made you grin. Whilst being uptight and proper, often told she had a stick up her ass, she always showed her soft, caring, and childish side to you, (BFF/N), and (B/N). 

“So, we have a Toby. Do you think he’s her soulmate or her enemy?” your mom asked. Your father shushes her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“We don’t know, honey, and neither does (N/N).” You laughed softly at your parents, turning your attention to your left wrist. A dark blue slowly appeared, along with what looks like splotches of black ink.

 _Jack_ almost had a feminine look to it, the lettering fancy. For a moment, you thought of a doctor’s chicken scratch. Perhaps this ‘Jack’ person was a doctor of some sorts?

“Toby and Jack,” (B/N) mumbles, testing the names on his tongue. You shoot him a smile before gently touching the names, avoiding the scars on your wrist. They weren’t from your doing, no. Definitely not.

If you had a strong connection with your soulmate, whether you knew them or not, every injury was reflected onto you. Say your soulmate accidentally cut his or her hand open while cutting vegetables. That wound would appear in the same spot on your same hand. It wasn’t rare for this to happen, but it wasn’t exactly uncommon, either.

Whoever your soulmate was, they must’ve taken quite a beating. You have cuts and scars all over your body from your soulmate. Sometimes they were scratches, like they accidentally scratched themselves too hard or someone grabbed them too tightly using their nails, some would be like a person took a whip to your back. Those wounds hurt the most when they showed up, and occasionally, they still did. Other times would be as if he was shot or stabbed, leaving you to be rushed to the ER. You felt bad for your soulmate, whoever he is. He must’ve gone through so much pain throughout his life.

“I don’t like them,” your brother announced, pulling you back into reality. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t even know them,” you point out. He crosses his arms, his green eyes piercing yours.

“Neither do you. Besides, no one’s good enough for my older sister. We all know that.” Your dad and best friend nod in agreement, but you pay them no mind.

“If you say so. Instead of bickering, why don’t we watch a movie? I’m not that tired, anyways,” you say, standing. (BFF/N) wraps an arm around your shoulders, cracking a joke only you two would understand. Laughing, the six of you make it to you living room, your favorite movie out on display. (BFF/N) pops it in the DVD player as everyone settled down on the couch or floor, your family members yawning, but waiting patiently for the movie to end before they went home. Then, and only then, would you and (BFF/N) go to your respective rooms for the night.

At least, this is what you hoped had been the end of your long and exciting day.

Somewhere deep in the forest, a brunette walks alone. He doesn’t have any fear of whatever - or whoever - resides there; he was dangerous enough as it is. It was common knowledge that he wasn’t to be messed with, especially when his mental state was at its weakest. He was ruthless and unforgiving, never hesitating to chop someone up into little bite-sized pieces with his two trusted hatchets. They were getting old and worn down, but he couldn’t bring himself to go into town to buy two more, nor could he find a new set that held comfortably in his hands. They were the right size and weight, their purpose perfect for what he intended to do.

“Toby,” a masked man hissed. Toby frowned at him, his cold brown eyes fixated on the figure that leaned against a barely visible small shed. The man had his arms crossed, a lit cigarette peeking from between two fingers. His tan jacket was dirtied with dried blood and dirt, his blue jeans in the same condition. A blood-soaked gauze was wrapped around a wound on his left thigh, the result from an old friend attempting to break his leg, not that Toby cared, though. Masky was better off dead, in his opinion. Masky was older by at least five years, and he was getting slower and messier with his work. Of course, the consequences came and went, but it didn’t change the fact that the white-masked man was putting them in danger.

“The fu-fuck do you want-t?” Toby hisses, his neck cracking. Masky stared at him for a moment, the air tense between them.

“Did you get the job done?” Of fucking course he did. Toby knew it was suicide to come back to the forest without the job completed. What kind of moron did Masky take him for?

“N-no fucking sh-shit, assh-hole.” Toby shoved his way past the older male without another word exchanged, shards of glass, rocks, and dead leaves crunching under his dirtied converses. The shed was decent sized, but bare. No light lit the way, the windows were smashed from either mother nature or results of angry fits, and the walls were beginning to crumble. The place was older than Masky, and it showed. 

Toby glanced at the small room that occupied the place. He could see freshly crumpled food wrappers littering the floor, an empty water bottle or two, an orange bottle of pills, and the corner of a dirtied mattress on the floor. Hoodie would either be in there, or out looking for another meal. Rolling his eyes, Toby grabbed a small bag of chips from the room, leaving it to hop up on a window ledge. Masky had disappeared, but he didn’t care. Toby pulled down his mouth guard and his goggles, leaving them to hang loosely around his neck as he ate. His mind was blank as he ate, a thought making its way forward and quickly disappearing. 

Needing something to focus on, the brunette popped a chip in his mouth before taking off his gloves. Two names were exposed in the moonlight, one on each wrist. _Natalie_ was written in blocky green letters, making him smile slightly. On the other, _(Y/N)_ was written in (F/C). This one made him frown. He had never met a (Y/N) in his life, and as he never bothered to learn the names of his victims, he was certain he had already killed her. Toby had killed hundreds of people in the neighboring towns and cities, so if he hadn’t killed this ‘(Y/N)’ person before, he was bound to do it soon.

It was a surprise Slender even let Toby see Clockwork. She worked for Zalgo, one of Slender’s many enemies. She was a year younger than Toby, but he didn’t pay any attention to that. He mostly focused on the time they spent together. It wasn’t all lovey-dovey as he may have wanted in a past life. No, it was filled with angry grunts, marks from one biting the other too harshly, and hate-filled words exchanged in spats and in witty remarks. This was the only way they knew how to show ‘affection,’ but neither seemed to mind. If Toby met (Y/N) in person perchance, he would show her how enemies get shit done.

Soft footsteps creeping up on him caught Toby’s attention. Standing in the doorway was Eyeless Jack, the ‘medic’ of the killers. The cannibal stared at Toby, completely motionless. Toby didn’t as much as chew, keeping his gaze on the eyeless male. Minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds resonating were the wind breezing through the trees and Toby’s ticks and cracks. The fact that Jack never comes here sets off warning bells in Toby’s head.

“Wh-why are you h-he-here, Ja-ack?” Toby asks, breaking the silence. He didn’t hate Jack, but he didn’t necessarily like him, either. Toby was certain Jack felt the same, but never asked. It was better this way, anyways. They stayed out of each other’s hair, only interacting by chance, or when Slender ordered them to work together. Jack took a cautious step forward, a hand grazing a wall.

“Slender sent me. A problem came up,” Jack says, feeling his surroundings. Toby’s back straightens, the bag of chips forgotten.

“What k-kind of pro-proble-em?” If Slender had sent the cannibal here, he knew the problem at hand was serious.

“There was a survivor from one of Jeff’s massacres,” the cannibal replies, finding a window and leaning against the ledge. He pulls out a bloodied rag and opens it, revealing a kidney. Jack lifts his mask and takes a bite as Toby’s patience begins to run out. “Sorry,” Jack says, swallowing. “Haven’t eaten in a few days. Anyways, the survivor is a young man by the name of Bryce Matthews, and he lives on (Y/S) in (Y/T). He’s been spreading information about us, because apparently, Jeff decided to talk to the damn voices in his head out loud again.”

“Of course h-he did,” Toby growls, clenching his fists. The bag of chips crinkle in complaint, catching the Proxy’s attention. He throws it to the ground without much thought. “What e-else was s-sa-” Toby frowns, twitching violently before trying again, “said?”

“Slender’s ordering everyone to hunt down Matthews and eliminate him. However, he has numerous surveillance cameras up, along with trip wires, traps, and a security software that not only notifies the police, but activates a siren that can be heard from the next town over. Ben’s already working on hacking into the software and the cameras, but it’s everyone’s job to kill the bastard,” Jack informs. Toby falls silent, aside from his twitching. He ponders the information over, frowning.

“H-How long do we h-ha-have?” Jack takes another bite of the kidney.

“About a week. He’s proven to be a bigger problem than we originally thought, so we have to work fast.” Toby curses and yanks on his goggles and mouthguard, hopping off of the ledge. He’d have to grab a map and find out where this bastard lives. 

They don’t have the time to lose.

You woke up to an odd sound. It sounded like a broken clock, the ticks off key and random. Running a hand over your face, you glanced at your alarm clock. **3:04** glared at you in an angry red. An eyebrow raised, you throw off the covers and stand, the freezing air in your room causing you to shiver. It was normal of you to keep a fan on at night and your windows cracked, no matter what the season. It’s been proven that people sleep better in the cold, anyways.

 _C’mon, (Y/N), focus,_ you tell yourself, frowning. You glance out the window and frown more. Something - or some _one_ \- seemed to be slowly walking across your yard. This bothered you greatly. With all the kids and teenagers that like to drop trash and vandalise your front and back yards, you decide to go out and confront the being, or to scare them off. Of course, you’d have your trusty taser with you.

You creep out of your room, your footsteps silent. There was no way you were going to wake (BFF/N) over something that could be just a misunderstanding. 

Or a robbery.

Or both.

(H/C) tangles flew left and right as you shook your head. Now wasn’t exactly the best time to get lost in your thoughts. You sigh and continue to the kitchen, searching blindly for the drawer you keep your taser in. It took you a few moments, but once you finally opened it and retrieved your beloved weapon, you tiptoe out of the kitchen and to the back door. The knob was cold when you placed your hand on it, but you ignored it and twisted the knob.

Wait a minute.

“I am a fucking idiot,” you mumble, releasing the knob to unlock the door. You were normally the one to lock the small house up at night, so why you forgot you had locked the door was beyond you. Swallowing your embarrassment, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

A gust of wind greeted you, sending a shiver down your spine, but you ignored it. You glanced around and frowned. The figure was nowhere in your line of sight, and the lack of the moon made the yard look darker than ever. Your hand goes to the light switch on instinct, but you stop. The thought of the figure being a burglar came back to your mind. Would you _really_ risk a burglary-gone-wrong by just turning on the light?

Your hand moves away from the light switch.

No, you wouldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, you poke your head outside and look around. Nothing moved as far as you can tell, and you were beginning to wonder if you were losing your mind. Your yard was bigger than you ever could’ve hoped for with a house this small, and without a fence, it was easy to see if something trespassed onto the property you rented with your best friend. 

“Welp, that was a waste of my time,” you mumble, turning to go back inside. The ticking from before caught your attention, but it was louder. Your heart pounds as you slowly turn around to examine your backyard, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. Scanning the outdoors, you almost miss a male figure in front of your neighbor’s window, his limbs twitching. You wince with every crack and tick his body makes, slowly retreating to the inside of your home. Moving slowly, you slowly latch and lock the door, turning to find your phone. If this man was going to break into your neighbor’s house, it would be idiotic to investigate on your own, and smart to call the police.  


_Shit, where’s my phone?!_ You scramble carefully around your house to get to your room, sighing in relief when you recognize the outline of your phone on your dresser. _Thank fucking god._ You snatched your phone and quickly powered it up, only to be blinded by the white light. A hiss escapes from between your teeth, but you ignore the brightness and quickly dial 9-1-1.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” The operator sounded tired, but you pay no mind as you glance out your window and at your neighbor’s house, where his window was wide open.

“My neighbor’s house was just broken into,” you frantically whisper. 

“Ma’am, do you know your neighbor’s name and address?” she asks, sounding a bit more awake. 

“Uhm...His name’s Bryce Matthews, and he lives on (Y/S), house number 3621.” A scream tears itself from your throat the same time a gun is fired, blood trickling from a wound in your shoulder. You faintly hear the operator yelling for you, but it’s drowned out by your screams and the sound of (BFF/N) knocking things over as she wakes. Another gunshot, and there’s a bullet hole through your leg. You crash to the ground, blood pooling around you.

“(Y/N)!” (BFF/N) screams, trying to open your door. She rams against it, unable to break it down. The operator on the line screams into a headset, and you can only focus on the words _break in, gun shots,_ and _ambulance._ You feel your room beginning to spin around you, the sound of your best friend trying to enter your room muted.

Wait…

You turn your head sluggishly towards the door, knowing for a fact you didn’t close it when you entered your room. Instead, two figures, one in a yellow hoodie and the other in a tan jacket, were pushing the door closed, successfully keeping your roommate out. 

_How did they get in here?_ you wonder, fighting to keep your eyes open. If these two strangers don’t kill you, blood loss certainly will.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_**Crack.** _

A hand grabs your chin and guides it away from your door. Blinking a few times, you fight to focus on the blob of dulled color in front of you. You couldn’t see any part of his face, his eyes hidden behind orange-tinted goggles and his mouth and chin covered by a strange looking mask. His dark hair is messy under a very dark blue hood, and what you can see of his grayish pale skin is concealed by what looks like a black turtleneck. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you.

“-o you und-understand me-e?” You blink and shake your head, the corners of your vision growing dark. Were you about to lose consciousness? A sharp pain jolts you back to reality, and it only takes a second for you to realize he stomped on your leg, right over your wound. You scream, tears burning at your eyes and begging to be released. “I s-sa-said, you a-are going-g to co-come quiet-tly. If you r-run, I wi-will kill y-yo-you. D-Do you un-understand me now-w, _bitch?”_ Stricken with fear and adrenaline rushing through your veins, you nod, your eyes wide. You’re not too sure if he smirks or not, but from the change in tone of his voice, it sounds like it. “G-good. M-Mask-Masky, Hood-die, let’s go. W-We’re taking thi-this bitch out.” Before you fully understand what’s going on, something heavy hit the back of your head, your body limping forward.

Hello, Darkness, my old friend.


	2. Chapter 2

The tension in the air was suffocating as the three most trusted Proxies made their way through Rosswood Park, the youngest carrying an unconscious (H/C) girl. Neither Masky nor Hoodie said anything, which pissed Toby off more, but he knew he’d have to wait to say anything until they got to the abandoned hospital they called ‘home.’ 

As the minutes, and Toby, ticked on, the only noise that would be considered a warning were footsteps off into the distance. If it were another serial killer or some curious idiot walking around, hoping to spot the Slender Man, the three can easily take him or her on, but if it were a wild animal, the girl would _easily_ become the one-way ticket to survival. Of course, that would mean the girl will become the animal’s next meal while the boys took off. 

No big loss.

However, instead of getting rid of the girl like Toby had hoped, the trio found themselves in front of the hospital with no incident. Gritting his teeth, Toby marched in and headed for one of the three stairways that led up to the second and third floors, and eventually, the roof. Sensing something’s off with their junior, Masky and Hoodie share a glance before stalking after the twitching killer. Said killer immediately notices he’s being followed, but ignores them, allowing his anger to grow. After all, if they were to break into a fight, _he_ isn’t the one who would be feeling any pain.

“Uh, Toby? Not that I give a shit or anything, but are you alright?” Toby comes to a stop, his chocolate eyes glaring at the wall across the room from him. He almost didn’t notice he had walked into a room, too angry to register most of his surroundings. Hoodie coughed harshly, wiping a drop of blood from his mouth before trying to speak again. “Toby?”

The girl’s body landed on the debris-covered floor with a sickening _thud,_ the youngest Proxy twitching more violently than usual. He rips off his goggles and mouthguard, slowly turning to face his coworkers, his lips formed in a deep frown and his eyes dark.

“Y-you shot he-he-her,” Toby hissed, just now noticing what made him so angry, but not quite understanding _why._ Hoodie glances at his partner before returning his gaze to Toby.

“Who, me?” Hoodie asked, leaning back slightly in defense.

 _”YES, YOU!”_ Toby explodes, yanking his hatchets out of their sheathes. Masky instantly grabs his lead pipe as Hoodie pulls out his gun and cocks it, keeping his aim to Toby’s feet. The tension grows as the silence deafens the room.

“I didn’t shoot her,” Hoodie rumbles, his hidden forest green eyes narrowed at his possible attacker.

“R-Right, and m-my hair i-is-isn’t brown-n,” Toby retorts, sarcasm heavily lacing his voice. He tightens his hold on his hatchets, mentally preparing himself for the fight that was almost completely certain to break out. Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time they had fought each other, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be their last.

“He didn’t shoot the bitch,” Masky says, tightening his own grip. Toby shifts his gaze to the eldest in the room, frowning even more. “I was _right there._ He didn’t have his gun out.” Hoodie nods in agreement.

“You can check my fucking gun and see if any bullets are missing. You would’ve seen me reload if I had shot her,” he points out, slowly pulling the gun up. Toby tenses and starts to lunge forward, but holds himself back as he watches the other open the chamber and show six bullets, none of which have been spent. “See? No shots have been fired from my gun. Now calm the fuck down and tie the cunt up. The Operator’s probably on his way, and he wants a report.” Hoodie closes the chamber and pockets his gun, turning and walking out of the room. Masky and Toby stare at each other, listening as Hoodie’s footsteps fade away.

“Matthews was eliminated, correct?” Toby nods, forcing his body to relax as he straightens his spine. Masky takes this as a sign to relax as well, loosening his grip on his pipe. “Good. All The Operator cares about is if the job is done or not. Only then will he decide what to do with the girl,” Masky says, his tone oddly soft. When Toby says nothing, Masky sighs and turns to leave. “If I were you, I’d give that bitch a slow and extremely painful death.” Masky walks out of the room and down the hall, not caring if it were pitch black or not. They all knew this place like they knew every dent, chip, and scratch in their weapons. Sighing deeply, Toby looks down at the girl, putting his hatchets back into their sheathes.

Blood soaked through her night shirt and pajama pants, onto the broken tile floor, the liquid illuminated by the little light that came from the window. The girl’s (H/C) hair was a tangled mess, some strands lying in the pool of blood that had collected under her. Rolling his eyes, Toby kneels and grabs her wrist, dragging her carelessly to an old, rusty, metal bed that was void of a mattress. Instead, a withered piece of cardboard lay haphazardly on top of the metal frame, spots of mold beginning to grow in the corners and towards the middle. The killer lifts and places her on the cardboard before looking for some spare rope or wire. 

Not finding any, Toby ventures out into the hallway and pokes his head through numerous doors, and by chance, finds a large spool of cable wire, perfect for tying the bitch up. A dark smirk adorns his face as he picks up the spool and cuts out a decent sized length of cable using a hatchet. He returns the hatchet to its rightful place and tests the strength by tying one end to a broken piece of brick, and the other around his wrist. Toby proceeds to swing the brick as hard as he could against the wall until either the wire snapped or the brick shattered.

The brick went first.

Satisfied with the strength of the cable wire, Toby takes the wire from around his wrist and picks up the spool, carrying it back to the room the girl was in. She was still unconscious, thankfully. The killer drops the spool and takes out his hatchet once more, which was seriously becoming a chore. For a moment, Toby considers the whole Freddy Krueger clawed glove thing. It’d make killing _so much_ easier, and probably more fun, not to mention he wouldn’t have to take it out and put it away every few minutes. 

Toby stores the thought in the back of his mind for later, returning his focus on the task at hand. He cuts four five-foot long strands from the cable wire, placing his hatchet on the ground in case he needs it again. Taking one wire at a time, Toby ties each wrist and each ankle to the head and foot of the metal bed frame, securing it so it doesn’t exactly cut off her circulation, but prevents her from having much movement. He then takes a moment to study her.

“No-now, it wouldn’t b-be much f-fun-n if sh-she blee-bleeds out, now w-w-would it?” he ponders outloud. As much as he’d like to let her bleed out and die, or just off her himself, Toby knows that he can’t do anything without Slender’s approval. That was always the downside of working for the being, but hey, if he can kill, he’s good. Sighing, Toby walks out of the room and makes his way down to the infirmary ward, all the way on the first floor. It was a place he and the others frequented regularly, so finding his way in complete darkness was a piece of cake. 

His footsteps echoed off the barren walls, each crunch of fallen paint under his shoes sounding like mini explosions in Toby’s ears. He ignores the noises and continues on his way to the infirmary. Along the way, Toby notices that his partners are nowhere to be found. He concludes they either found a room to rest in, left for the old shed in the forest, to the psyche hospital, or out looking for supplies. Either way, they’re out of his hair and not bothering him. He doesn’t really care if they’re here or not, though he’d rather to be away from them. There’s only so much stupidity a serial killer like him can take.

“Finally,” Toby mumbles, walking into the infirmary. The medical supplies were stored in bins hidden away in the cupboards, but they were often moved around to different locations, mainly because Jeff the Asshole couldn’t get his own supplies with that fucked up face of his. Toby frowns and realizes that he’d have to search blindly in the dark for the supplies, and that wasn’t very fun. It was more bothersome, if anything. Groaning in irritation, Toby begins to look for the first aid kit. Six empty cupboards later, the killer finally finds what he’s looking for. Without another word, he closes the cupboards and exits the room, the white box in his hands. 

“Toby,” a rough voice breaks through the deafening silence. Toby turns and sees the outline of Eyeless Jack standing in the middle of the hallway, his hands in his pockets.

“Wh-what?” Toby growls. Jack steps towards him, careful to not catch his feet on any fallen debris.

“The guy was killed, yeah?” The Proxy rolls his eyes.

“Would I-I-I really com-me b-back if he wa-wasn’t? You k-know Slen-Slend-Slender would ki-kill me if I d-d-didn’t get the job-b done-ne right t-th-then and th-there,” he retorts. Toby can’t tell if Jack frowns or not, but then again, he doesn’t really care. What he’s more concerned about is why Jack, of all killers, is here. The Proxy thought that after his run-in with the cannibal earlier that day would be enough, but it appears not to be the case. “Wh-why are y-y-you here?”

“Don’t know,” Jack confesses, stepping by Toby. The two fall in step with each other, making their way to the nearest stairwell. “Had a feeling I had to be here, I guess.”

“M-Makes no se-sense,” Toby says. Jack shrugs and motions towards the object in Toby’s hands.

“Someone injured?” A noise of affirmation leaves Toby’s throat. “One of us, or someone else?”

“S-someon-one else,” he replies. Jack turns towards Toby in question, but presses no further. Instead, he climbs the steps with the Proxy in silence. Jack suddenly becomes overwhelmed with a strong gravitational pull, urging him to go down a certain hallway. Never experiencing this strength of a pull before, he follows it, subconsciously rubbing his wrists. “Wh-where are you g-go-going?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Jack mumbles, deep in thought. He hadn’t felt this sort of pull in years, not since-

“Toby? What’s Jack doing here?” Oh, it’s Masky. Jack should’ve heard him walking up, but why didn’t he? The cannibal tunes the Proxies out - wait, Hoodie’s here, too? Why hadn’t he heard _him_ come up as well? - as Toby fills them in. He frowns under his solid blue mask, already knowing he’s not going to like what he discovers. A right here, a left or two there, and Jack finds himself in front of a room, holding his breath as he listens. The Proxies have since gone quiet, watching the cannibal with interest. Jack was aware he was acting strange, but at that moment, it wasn’t a concern for him. Instead, his focus was on the faint, broken breathing that resonated from inside the room.

“Who’s in there?” he asks, turning his head slightly in the direction of Slender’s Proxies. 

“Just some witness that called the cops on us,” Hoodie says, shrugging. Jack doesn’t respond, pursing his lips. “Why do you care?”

“None of your business,” the cannibal answers, taking the first aid kit from Toby and entering the room. He could feel the slightly warmer temperature of the room as he steps in, a clear indication that someone was _definitely_ in here, as if the overwhelming scent of blood wasn’t enough. He doesn’t know why, but the strange pull becomes stronger as Jack gets closer to the witness. Smelling fresh blood, Jack leans closer to the figure. He doesn’t have to see to know that the witness is a young female, possibly around her early twenties, and is badly injured. A sharp sniff tells him that she’s injured in two places: in the shoulder and in the leg, and if the injuries weren’t treated ASAP, not only would the girl be at risk for infection, but it could lure other predators to find and devour her. With that in mind, Jack makes quick work to cut off her night shirt and roll up her pajama bottoms leg, moving quickly to patch up the wounds.

From the doorway, Toby watches the cannibal work on treating the girl’s wounds, a frown on his face. A nudge from Masky tells him that Masky and Hoodie were leaving to wait for Slender elsewhere, leaving silently when Toby nods in acknowledgement. Not once does he tear his eyes away from the unconscious girl, a growl threatening to escape his throat every time Jack’s nimble hands touches her bare skin. The Proxy continues to wonder why he’s acting this way, and why he hates the thought of the cannibal’s hands on her. He is no way attracted to the bitch, and the thought of killing her slowly shoots adrenaline through his veins, yet he can’t seem to wrap his head around a single reason why he doesn’t want Jack to be anywhere near her.

“She’ll be okay,” Jack says, relief clear in his voice. It’s something Toby picks up, but doesn’t comment on. He simply watches as the cannibal stretches, ‘watching’ the young girl sleep. “How’d you manage to tie her wrists without removing her bracelets and watch? You’d normally take them off.” Toby shrugs, keeping his lips pursed as he finally enters, walking to the opposite end of the room. 

“D-don’t know,” Toby grumbles, repeating Jack’s words from earlier. “Just d-did. Pro-problem?” Jack lets out a short, humorless laugh.

“I suppose not; it’s just something to take note of.” The cannibal rubs his wrists again, remembering how one name was blurred out and faded, and the other? He could hardly remember the name, but he remembers the color the name was written in. (F/C). The color was etched into Jack’s mind, like a favorite childhood memory that refused to go away once he started thinking about it. Turning his head towards the girl, Jack wonders if she owned one of the names on his wrists, much more likely to be the (F/C) one. The other girl died years ago, back when he was in college.

Before he became a freak of nature.

“You g-gunna st-sta-stay, or a-are you gun-na leave?” the twitching killer asks. Jack shrugs.

“Don’t know yet. I’m thinking about staying. Will you be okay with that?” Toby shrugs and sits under the broken window, leaning his head against the wall and closing his chocolate-colored eyes.

“Don’t car-re,” was his response. Jack nods and feels around for something to sit on, his hands soon finding a large overturned spool of some sort of cable. Shrugging, he puts it upright and places it next to the metal bed frame, sitting on it. When Jack’s stomach rumbles, he pulls out a bloodied handkerchief and opens it, revealing a kidney that would go bad within a few hours if he didn’t eat it now. 

Toby, on the other hand, listens as Jack eats the kidney, twitching every other second. He begins to miss Natalie, but is distracted by a very warm feeling. Toby mentally checks to see if he subconsciously pissed his pants or something, but when that checked out, he ran through every remaining possibility in his mind. 

Sweating? _No._

Heat flash? _Unlikely._

Bleeding? Well, he _was_ covered in blood, but he was almost completely sure it wasn’t his own.

The only oddity was that whenever he got closer to the unconscious girl, the warm feeling grew hotter, but never to the point where it was uncomfortable. It almost had a homey feel, like walking through the front door and greeted with love and kisses from a husband or wife. Toby had never felt anything like that before, which puzzles him to no end. Perhaps he’s just exhausted, and the girl’s warm blood soaking onto his back and shoulder was causing him to feel that way? Maybe it’s because he’s _finally_ in a safe zone, in a place where if someone were to sneak in to cause harm, he was at the advantage? Maybe he’s just missing his old life, feeling nostalgic about memories and feelings he doesn’t remember?

With a sigh, Toby chooses to ignore it for now. Slender _still_ hasn’t shown his faceless, well, face, and it’s been a long and irritating day, with one thing happening after another, so he might as well get some rest while he waits for the big boss to show up. The Proxy shifts to get comfortable, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his mind go blank. He slowly drifts off in a light sleep, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. What he didn’t realize, however, was that in the midst of getting rid of the main threat, and missed by the darkness, the scent covered by the girl’s heaping amounts of blood, he had been shot twice.

Once in the shoulder, and once in the leg.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some changes in the first chapter about a week ago, so if you want, you can go ahead and reread it. 
> 
> I apologize for how late this chapter is. I was taking a class, and I'm very happy to say that in the 9th, I passed! So now, I'm officially a CNA, though I have to do some state testing. Either way, I've been busy, and stuff will be getting pretty interesting in the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Darkness. 

Darkness, cold, and a dull pain in your head. Those were the only three things you were completely sure of as you woke. You had no idea where you were as you peered around the pitch-black room. A broken window was the only thing you could really see, but other than that, it was nothing but inky darkness. Wincing, you try to move your hand to investigate what was causing your head to pound, only to find that your wrist was tied in place. A quick tug of your arms and legs proved that you were tied down to...whatever this thing was. 

Cardboard?

A metal structure of some kind?

You weren’t entirely sure, but it felt like it. A groan escapes your lips as you lift your head and reluctantly lower it once more against your uncomfortable makeshift bed. A small yelp escapes from your lips when your shoulder and leg started hurting out of nowhere, reminding you of the past events. But...how long ago did that happen? Who were those people? Is (BFF/N) okay? Is (he/she) even _alive?_

“Oh, you’re awake.” You turn your head to the new voice, taking in the quiet British accent and how hoarse it was. Soft footsteps, almost too silent to hear, make their way towards you. On impulse, your whole body shifts away and tries to get as far from the footsteps as possible. “You _do_ realize that you can’t move, right?”

“I’m aware,” you snap, immediately regretting your tone of voice. The male chuckles darkly, seemingly stopping next to you. The air next to the right side of your hip was tense, the aura that he emits sending chills down your spine.

“I’d watch that smart-ass mouth of yours if I were you,” the male says, a threat underlining his words. You clamp your mouth shut, eyes wide as you stare at the darkness in his general direction. “Now, don’t be one of those cliché bitches everyone always sees in movies and skip the idiotic questions. I’m not going to tell you my name, I’m not going to tell you where you are, and I’m _certainly_ not letting you go. You have too much importance right now, for reasons that I’m not going to tell you. Just be a good little girl and answer every question we have. Do you understand?” 

“Y-Yes,” you mutter, swallowing thickly. The male hums, clearly happy with your answer.

“Good. Also, a good note to keep in mind: Don’t try to escape. You’ll be extremely unsuccessful, and I have many friends eager to rip you to shreds, and no telling if they'd want to play around with you before they kill you.” Your eyes widen, but you refuse to move. The sound of cloth being moved makes you wince, but you quickly realize that the male isn't touching you, nor your clothes. A disgusting smell, one that smells oddly like a rotting piece of meat, reaches your nose, leaving you to gag on reflex. 

“Ugh,” you groan softly, wrinkling your nose and turning your face away from the scent. The male chuckles darkly once more. 

“Something wrong with my meal?” he asks coldly. You make no move nor a sound to answer him. “What, scared of me?” You hear the smirk in his voice, and the little voice in your head tells you not to say anything. You don't listen.

“No shit,” you growl, narrowing your eyes in his direction. “You're keeping me here against my will, injured, and for reasons you _refuse_ to tell me. Why wouldn't I be scared of you freaks?!” 

It was at this moment that you knew that you had fucked up.

Hands were quickly placed around your throat, squeezing until your airway was cut off. You gurgle, straining for the oxygen that tasted sour on your tongue, but any oxygen was better than none.

“Care to repeat that?” he hisses, tightening his grip. His grip doesn't falter, even as you struggle to shake your head. “Let me tell you something, _bitch,_ your attitude will get you killed. I'm not here to be your friend, nor are the others. One smart-ass remark like that will get you killed. _I_ will kill you if you say something like that again. Understand me?” Tears streaming down your reddened and oxygen-deprived face, you nod in understandment. When the killer finally releases you, you're quick to gulp in as much oxygen as your lungs can handle. He takes a step back, and you can feel his harsh glare on you.

“S-Sorry,” you sputter, trembling as you inhale. The male says nothing, but you hear the ruffling of cloth again.

“You better be.” The squeaking of his shoes tell you he turned quickly, and if his quick, yet soft, footsteps walking away weren’t a sign that he was walking away, you were sure the lack of his bitter aura would be. 

A soft whimper leaves your lips, barely audible as you stare into the darkness. Anyone could be here with you, in this room, and you wouldn’t even know it. That scared you. It scared you that you would possibly never know where you are, who your kidnappers are, or why they were doing this to you. Was it because of something you said to someone? Someone you accidentally bumped into? Or maybe it was something you did that set them off? You didn’t know, but the questions burn in the back of your mind. As you snap out of your thoughts, you notice that you can see the outlines of your surroundings, and you decide to take a mental note.

To your right was the window, the broken glass glistening with the sudden appearance of the moon, the shards laying unceremoniously on the ground below and on top of the window ledge. The room was barren of any dresser or table, but directly to your left, next to your head and shoulder, there was a huge spool of cable.

“The fuck…?” you murmur, but you mentally shrug and continue to look around.

The door, which was a bit to the right towards the foot of your...constraint, you guess, was barely visible. Through the door, you can see the entrance to another dark room, debris littering the gloomy hallway. Nothing in particular stood out to you, so you focus on any noise that could be heard. 

Everything was silent, almost deafening. If you really strained your ears, you could hardly hear the rumbling of voices, a good distance away. There were at least three or four, maybe five, your eyes widening as you recognize two of them. It sounded like they were outside, but you realize that even if you snuck away, it'd be no good. 

First of all, you're tied down to a metal structure with only a piece of cardboard for support. Secondly, the killer had told you that he had friends wandering the area. Now, you weren't too sure if he was being truthful or not, but you weren't about to take a risk and find out. 

They're all stronger than you, more skilled, and definitely faster. Even if you weren't injured, you have no doubts that they would catch up to you within moments, if you decided to make a run for it. The only thing you could do was lie there and do whatever they tell you to do, which worried you to no end. You are defenseless, tied down, unable to make any decision without them deciding whether or not to kill you then and there. Unless…

You glance up at the head of the metal frame. By now, you had discovered it was a bed frame of sorts, but what interests you is the fact it's rusted with age, which means that you may have a chance to defend yourself. With that thought in mind, you grasp one of the rusty bars at the head of the bedframe and begin to twist your hand, hoping to get the bar loose, even just a little bit. An irritated grunt escapes your lips as you jerk your hand, your restricted movement beginning to get on your nerves as you work. Right when it seems you won’t get anywhere with this, you hear the smallest of noises, metal on metal. You grin in triumph. 

Looks like these freaks can’t hold you here forever.

Outside the hospital, a strange meeting was taking place. The forest was silent, not even the breathing of the Proxies could be heard as they waited for **HIM** to speak.

 ** _Is Bryce Matthews dead, just as I ordered you to?_** The three males stood side by side, staring into the gloomy forest. Hoodie and Masky wince, but Toby stares straight on, feeling the throbbing of his head, but not feeling the pain like his companions do.

“Yes, sir,” Hoodie says, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Though, we ran into a problem.”

 ** _A problem? What_ kind _of problem?_** It was indisputable that the being was growing angry; **HE** despised any form of setback, no matter how minute it was. The Proxies glance at each other, hesitation in their eyes.

“Since Toby’s the one who adopted the problem, I think he should be the one to tell you,” Masky pipes, a smirk clear in his voice. Toby growls and glares at his senior, his hands finding his hatchets. 

**_Well? What is it?_** Toby tears his eyes away from the smoker of the trio, forcing himself to return his gaze into the forest, feeling his heart thump violently against his ribs. 

Toby wasn’t afraid of much of anything. Hell, none of them were, but they all had one fear in common. Pissing **HIM** off was something they would never do. Even considering it sent shivers down their spines and a tremble in their bodies. Each killer that killed under **HIS** control knew what the consequences were for everything, even the minor slip ups. When The Musician, one of the newer Proxies, accidentally let a target live, she was starved for three weeks, and was whipped or beaten with anything that was in the vicinity. Hoodie hates to admit this, but her screams still haunt him, and every time he sees one of the scars on her back, he feels his heart sink to his stomach, knowing that _he_ was the one who let the son of a bitch live. He was the one who distracted her from her job, after all.

Though, he’d never admit that to anyone. Hoodie isn’t sorry that he caused her to get punished, no. He could care less about that. What _really_ bothered him was how close he had been to be the one in her place. 

**_Well?_** The trio wince in unison, fighting the urge to shrink back at the tone of **HIS** voice. 

“W-We have a w-wit-witne-ness,” Toby stutters, temporarily hating his stutter. His arm twitches by his side as his neck pops. **HE** was silent for a moment.

 ** _A witness?_** **HE** asks, oddly silent. Toby nods, swallowing thickly, knowing what was about to come. **_How interesting. Does anyone care to explain how you came across this...witness?_**

“We were hunting down Matthews, just as you asked,” Hoodie speaks up, curling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “While Toby was opening a window, Masky and I stayed on lookout. We saw Matthews’ neighbor poke her head through the door, so we told Toby immediately and went to find a way in. We knew she had seen Toby going through the window, so we acted quickly. We made our way up to the second floor by using some shed outside her house, but we entered into some sort of office. There was a locked cabinet, but we didn’t have the time to look through it.”

“Hoods and I managed to find her room just as she reached the top step, so we ducked in and flashed the flashlight out of her window, hiding by her desk afterwards,” Masky adds, glancing at Hoodie. “She came in, called the cops, and right as I was about to hit her over the head, she was shot twice. Her housemate woke up and tried to get in, but we barricaded the door. Toby came in through her window and told her he was coming with us. He knocked the bitch out, we brought her to the old hospital, and tied her up.” **HE** was silent. The forest stilled and seemingly darkened, which didn’t sit well with the Proxies. They knew **HE** wasn’t too happy about the situation, but they knew better than to speak up.

 ** _I see,_** **HE** finally says. **HE** grows quiet once more, presumably in thought. There have been situations like this before, but this was the first time **HE** has hesitated to give an answer right away. Something was up, and Toby didn’t like it. **_I want you to find out what’s in that cabinet. If it has anything to do with the Matthews pest, destroy it and give the girl to the Rake. You all know how much he enjoys a little game of_ Cat and Mouse.** Toby and Masky nod, Toby chewing on the inside of his cheek and Masky pressing his lips together. 

“And if it’s not about anything that has to do with Matthews?” Hoodie asks, almost regretting opening his mouth.

 ** _Kill her._** **HE** disappears after that. The commotion of nocturnal forest life picked up once more as soon as **HE** leaves, the owls hooting and crickets chirping. The moon peaked between the thick clouds once more, offering little light to the forest. The three remained where they stood, staring off into the forest. It was Masky who moved first.

“We should split up,” he suggests. Toby scowls at him.

“A-and what-t, go gh-ghost huntin-ing?” he asks scornfully. Masky frowns, turning to him and Hoodie.

“No, you fucking moron. Use that last, half-dead brain cell of yours for once, will ya? I’m just saying that you and Hoodie go check out that cabinet, and I’ll make sure the little skank continues to breathe,” the smoker hisses. 

_”Fuck no,”_ Toby seethes, his blood boiling at the _thought_ of Timothy being alone with the girl. He knew what Masky could do, and how he works. If he wants something, he gets it, one way or another.

“Why are you so protective over her? Is there something that I’m fucking missing? Do you want to chop her up? Do you want to strangle her? Do you _want_ her? Because if so, fucking speak up. I can’t fucking read your mind, so if you think you can handle a little babysitting job, tell me. Otherwise, you’re going to shut the fuck up and do what **HE** says.” Masky stands in front of Toby, his cold brown eyes glaring angrily down at the shorter male. Toby, standing three inches shorter than Tim, refuses to back down, matching his stare. The two grow silent, neither of them moving a muscle. To Hoodie, it was a standoff between two wild animals, each more dangerous than the other in their own ways. Where Toby couldn’t feel pain and is quicker, Masky was stronger and more experienced. They’re complete opposites when it comes to ability and personality, but work ethics wise, they’re both extremely good at what they do. 

Hoodie watches them in silence.

_kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL_

Toby grins wickedly under his mouth guard, his eyes darkening in sick excitement. All he could picture was slipping Tim’s throat, skinning him alive, strangling him with his own intestines. Thanks to **HIM,** they can’t die like any other human, so the options were endless on how the twenty-three year old would make the twenty-eight year old regret every little moment he doubted Toby. 

“Why don’t we have Jack ‘watch’ her?” Hoodie’s voice snaps the duo out of their hatred-filled stupor, two hidden sets of brown eyes turning to him. When they say nothing, the hooded killer continues, “It’s clear he refuses to hurt her, though the reason’s unknown, so if he ‘watches’ her, he can keep Jeff and the Rake and any other freak away from her. That way, one of us can unlock and look through the cabinet, while the other two explore Matthews’ house to destroy anything he has on us.”

“You _d-do_ rea-realize Jack-k can’t act-actu-actually _see,_ r-right?” Toby retorts, tilting his head as his joints tick. Hoodie rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Hoodie grumbles. “Just stop being a smartass for a moment so we can decide what to do.”

“I like the idea,” Masky declares.

“Of c-course you d-do,” Toby snips. Masky ignores him.

“That settles it. Someone go inform Jack of the plan, and I’ll start grabbing some supplies. No telling what traps Matthews set up in his house.” Hoodie then turns and walks into the hospital, heading towards the basement. Masky says nothing as he follows his college friend, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Sighing, Toby lets his head fall back as he sighs, staring at the roof of the hospital. The graffiti wasn’t as bad up there, but the walls of the building were visibly crumbling. When he had first arrived at the abandoned hospital, six, almost seven years ago, the hospital had looked a little bit better, a little cleaner. But now, it looks too dangerous to even get close to. Either way, it keeps curious minds from entering the building.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lowering his head and beginning to march into the hospital. Jack had left when Toby was asleep, but the Proxy knew he was still inside. The question, however, was _where._

“Ah, there you are, Toby.” Speaking of the devil.

“I w-was loo-looking f-f-for you,” Toby announces, turning to the blind cannibal. Jack is seated on one of the old receptionist desks, his legs crossed as he-wait, is he reading a book?

“Yes, Masky informed me that you would be. That’s exactly why I came out to meet you,” Jack replies. He closes the book and unfolds his legs, hopping off the desk and landing with a small thud. “What do you need me for?”

“We-We’re going on a-a miss-mission. S-Someone ne-needs to look af-after the g-gi-girl wh-while we’re gon-ne, and H-Hoodie su-sugg-suggested asking y-you,” Toby informs. He withholds the details of the mission on purpose. Jack doesn’t need to know what they were planning.

“Why should I watch her?” Toby narrows his eyes.

“Do you _r-really_ want-t some-someone like J-Jeff or L-Laughing J-Ja-Jack to f-find her?” Toby retorts. Jack sighs.

“I suppose not. I don’t know why, but I can’t stand the thought of someone harming her,” Jack confesses softly, refusing to face Toby. Said killer raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. This was more information than he wanted to hear, and he honestly didn’t want to know any of this, but if it gets the cannibal to shut up and watch the bitch, he’s fine. 

Though deep down, the mere thought of Jack even being _near_ her pissed him off. Toby still doesn’t understand why, and he still doesn’t understand why he feels so safe with the girl, nor can he explain the dream he had of her, but he brushes it off. He figures he’s missing Clockwork and his mind’s playing some sort of sick trick on him, replacing Natalie’s face with the girl’s, but part of him doubts that. 

“I should probably get going to her room, and you might as well be on your way on that mission. I wish you luck, and I’d like to hear the results, if it’s not too much to ask. Farewell, Tobias,” Jack voices, tucking the book under his arm. Toby nods and watches as Jack climbs the stairs, unsettlingly already familiar with the layout of the hospital. Sighing through his nose, Toby leaves to find Masky and Hoodie, the faint memory of the dream replaying in his mind over and over again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the long wait! To catch you all up on what's going on, I passed the state exam. I was part of the 10% who passed on the first try, so woohoo! I also got a guinea pig named Tweek, and I just turned 20, not to mention I got accepted to a really good nursing school. After a comment on the first chapter, I reread this fanfic and decided to update it :3 again, I'm terribly sorry for the wait, and I'm hoping I can continue with less waiting time for all of you! 
> 
> Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear any feedback, guests and members alike!

Toby frowned as he looked through Matthews’ house, searching for any paper or digital document that the bastard had, perchance, left behind. So far, all he had found was a locked computer, and a quick text to Ben fixed that. Until Ben was finished, Toby was looking around to see if he had missed anything.

“Hey man,” a electronic-sounding voice spoke up. Toby turns and frowns at Ben. The drowned victim returns the frown, his red eyes glaring into Toby’s. 

“Wh-what did you f-fi-find?” Ben turns to Matthews’ old computer, the screen flickering to life without Ben even touching it.

“Well, he deleted every trace of his files. Nothing was sent out through email, and nothing was delivered. It’s almost like he did this to throw us off,” he informs, staring intently at the screen. Multiple files are opened and closed; pictures, documents, websites, and .EXE files flashed across the screen, too quickly for Toby to completely see what they contained, but was slow enough for him to see what they were.

“Okay, an-and?” Toby snaps, growing impatient. If all of this had been for nothing, **HE** would be _extremely_ pissed, and that’s not something he was too excited about.

“Before you get all pissed off,” Ben says, turning to deepen his frown at the Proxy, “I managed to find something. The file wasn’t very big, and at first, I thought it held no significance, but I was wrong.” Ben turns back to the computer, manually opening a file. Toby leans in and narrows his eyes from behind his goggles. Ben’s cursor was hovering over a file with a few pictures in it, titled _’Summer2017._

“Su-summ-mmer twe-twenty seven-t-teen,” Toby states, his frown turning into an annoyed grimace. Ben nods, glancing at him.

“I know. I didn’t think it would hold any useful information, either. When I opened it, sure, it had some pictures, but check this out.” Ben opens the file and scrolls through it. Toby, irritated beyond belief, decides to at least humor the hacker, leaning in to see what the fuck he was talking about. Ben stops at a strange document with what seemed to be a lock over it.

“What the-”

“I know,” Ben says. “It doesn’t look like it should’ve held anything of importance, but Matthews is, or more grammatically correct, _was,_ pretty fucking crafty. I’m so glad I opened this file. Otherwise, I never would’ve found it.”

“A-Aren’t you go-going t-t-to open i-it?” the Proxy asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“I tried. It may take me a while to open it, so give me a few hours to a few days. I’ll report my findings to **HIM** when I’m done,” Ben concludes, disappearing through the computer. Toby sighs and turns, glancing around once more.

“W-we’ll fi-find what y-y-you’re hiding, Matt-Matthews,” he grumbles, beginning to stalk towards the window he entered from.

“Tell me again _why_ we decided to leave Matthews’ house to _Toby_ of all people,” Masky grumbles, keeping an eye out for (BFF/N). Hoodie frowns as he turns the safe’s dial, saying nothing as he listens for a clicking noise. Masky continues to grumble quietly, but says nothing more to Hoodie.

“Got it,” Hoodie announces, opening the safe door. Masky glances out the room once more before making his way to his partner. Hoodie picks up a flashlight from the ground and points the beam to the insides of the safe, frowning under his mask. Papers, some yellowed with age and some looking brand new, were neatly stacked. The green-eyed Proxy supports the flashlight between his shoulder and cheek, reaching in and grabbing the stack of papers. Masky hovers over him, watching with little interest as his partner reads through them, one by one.

“Well? What do we have?” Hoodie hears the impatience in Masky’s voice and hands part of the stack to him, along with the flashlight.

“Nothing much of use, actually. Just some birth certificates, autographed pictures, car receipts, and the lease to this house,” Hoodie mumbles, sighing through his nose. His stack was useless. “Yours?”

“Two high school diplomas, passports, and copies of social security cards,” Masky replies, sounding just as disappointed. The duo put the papers back in the safe neatly stacked, the door to the safe closing and locking once more. “That was a waste of time.”

“Something tells me it isn’t _completely_ a waste of time, though,” the other mutters, standing. He grabs the flashlight from Masky and sweeps the room, looking for something, _anything,_ that would give them a reason to convince **HIM** to kill the girl slowly and painfully, unlike the quick death **HE** had in mind.

“Knowing **HIM,** we have a day left before **HE** decides what to do with her. I say let’s just head back, give her life hell, then let **HIM** finish her off. We all know how much **HE** likes to do that,” Masky offers, a sick grin beginning to form. Hoodie nods and clicks off the flashlight, heading towards the window.

“Looks like Toby’s done,” he says, opening said window. Masky hums behind him, but follows him as he climbs out. Toby waits for the duo below. “What’d you find?”

“B-Ben f-fo-found a f-file. He’s op-opening it, but w-will take a f-few hours t-t-to a few da-days,” Toby informs, keeping it short. Hoodie and Masky nod, turning towards the forest and walking alongside their junior. “Wh-what ab-about you?”

“We didn’t find anything,” Masky says, pulling his carton of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket. He takes one of the sticks out, along with his red transparent lighter. Toby glances at the lighter as Masky flicks it to life, lighting the cigarette with ease before taking in a deep breath of smoke.

“Sh-shame,” Toby rumbles, turning to stare at the path in front of him. For some reason, the realization that the (h/c) girl would be dying soon both pissed Toby off and scared him. 

“If you’re that upset about it, either talk to **HIM** about it, or talk to the damn girl,” Hoodie speaks, startling the twitching Proxy. 

“Wh-what?!”

“Unlike you, he didn’t stutter, you pompous ass,” Masky snaps. “As much as I hate the idea, Hoodster is right. Talk to the damn girl, because we all know **HE** won’t hesitate to kill her if **HE** finds out.” Toby goes quiet, thinking it over.

“M-Maybe,” he mutters, “just-t maybe.”

* * *

You hardly hear the footsteps approaching, making you freeze in your tracks. It had gotten easier for you to see what’s in the room, but you were too focused on getting the rusted bar free to notice the actual person walking in.

“If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you might as well quit while you’re ahead,” the British killer said. You look over and can see the outline of two dark eyeholes where his eyes should be.

“You’re wearing a mask,” you observe, wincing. Shit, you didn’t mean to say that outloud.

“Yes, and you’re barely wearing a shirt,” he retorts. Looking down, you swallow thickly. You knew it was cold in the room, but you assumed it was just the blood from your wounds soaking through your shirt, not that your shirt was actually _gone._ “Don’t worry, none of us did anything. Well, I didn’t. I’m just assuming the others haven’t. Anyways, I apologize about that. If my...boss, perhaps you could call **HIM,** had seen what condition you’re in, **HE** would’ve been quite angry with us.”

“Why are you saying ‘him’ and ‘he’ like that?” you question. The male was being a little more talkative than before, and you’re hoping you can get some minor answers out of him. Said male hummed, walking over to the spool of wire and taking a seat.

“Well, **HE’s** our boss, and it would be disrespectful to not refer to **HIM** as something other than a powerful, celestial being. Afterall, **HE** _did_ give us life, but in a different sense.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and you weren’t too sure if that was good or not.

“I...I guess that makes sense, sorta,” you trail off, narrowing your eyes at the male. From what you can tell, he was wearing some sort of dark hoodie and jeans, dark Vans, and a dark mask, with darker eye holes. They weren’t significant features, but if - no, _when_ \- you got out of this alive, you could describe at least the mask to him. Ha, who’re you kidding? There’s no way in Hell you’re going to survive this, and you know it.

“So, what do you know about Bryce Matthews?” His voice caught you off guard. Bryce? Your neighbor?

“I never really knew him,” you admitted. “The only time we ever talked was asking about weather conditions or if the garbage day was changed. Other than that, we never talked.”

“Interesting. Let’s say I believed you, and you tell me if you knew anything about him that would make someone want to go after him. What would he be hiding?” The male leans closer to you, his masked face close to your wrist.

“Drugs? Alcohol? Hookers? I don’t know. I moved in with my housemate like, a year ago. All I know is that he worked at some store by a Home Depot and was really reserved. There was some accident a few months ago-”

“An accident?” the male cuts you off, leaning even closer. He was closer to your elbow at this point. “What do you know about this accident?” You raise an eyebrow at him, but continue.

“Bryce was caught in some sort of terrorist attack, I think. A bombing or a shoot-out, maybe some guy going crazy, but he was the only one alive. I went and picked him up from the hospital, but he was talking crazy, something about ‘them being real’ and ‘they’re coming to get me,’ whatever that meant. I figured it was the medicine they gave him, but I wasn’t completely sure,” you tell him. If you can just get this guy to trust you a little bit, you might have a chance on surviving.

“...” The male leans back, a finger across where his lips would be. You watch him for a moment before turning your gaze to the ceiling. “I see. Did he mention any names?”

“Uhm…” You mentally tap against your forehead, trying to think back to when this happened. “It’s been a few months, so I’m not entirely sure. Maybe he did?”

“Try to remember,” he urged, leaning forward once more. You close your eyes and clear your mind, thinking back to when all of this happened.

“J...something with a J...He kept rambling about it, saying that this _J_ person will gut him and skin him alive if he was discovered to be alive. Jacque, Jason, Jeff, maybe? I can’t really remember.” The male, you notice, stiffens when you say _Jeff._ Interesting.

“Thank you for the information. In return, I’ll give out one piece of personal information, so choose carefully, for this may not happen again,” the male says. Your eyes widen, but you frown. If you choose his name and go to the cops afterwards, he’ll know it was you who spilled his name and appearance. You’ll have to figure it out some other way. If you ask where you are, again, he’ll know it was you who leaked the information. They already know where you live, so both options weren’t very smart. Perhaps you should start off small, do what he says and give him whatever information you have, and gain his trust? That...that may work, actually.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask. The male starts, as if surprised by your question.

“E-Excuse me?” You smile politely, almost innocently. 

“Your favorite color. What is it?” The man stares at you, speechless. You felt victorious, able to fuck with his head, but yet not risking your life with a typical horror movie question.

“...” He continues to stare at you, not even moving. You begin to frown. Does he not know his favorite color? Or does he see right through you and realize what you’re doing? “Orange. I like the color orange.” Okay, that caught you off guard.

“Honestly, I thought it would be blue,” you mumble. He snorts. 

“Because of the mask? Ha, no,” he snarks sarcastically. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, only now realizing how odd this conversation was getting. “Do me a favor and read the name on my wrist.”

“What? Why?” you demand, your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. The man says nothing as he yanks up a black sleeve, revealing his muscular arm. You can barely see the writing on the inside of his wrist.

“Read it.” Glancing up at him at the seriousness of his voice, you stretch your neck out as far as you can, studying the simple word on his wrist. “Well? What does it say?” he inquires.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, moving back to look up at him. The man tenses.

_”What.”_

“I don’t know,” you repeat,” I can’t read it. It’s too dark to see.” The man goes silent again, keeping his gaze trained on you. You begin to wonder why he’s showing such a sensitive thing such as the name on his wrist to a stranger- no, a _victim_ \- like you. Without another word, he yanks down his sleeve. 

“I’ll check on you in a little bit,” he snaps, turning on his heel and leaving the room. A sigh escapes your lips as you lean your head back against the piece of cardboard. He caught you trying to free a bar, so no doubt he’ll tell his friends about that, which, obviously, means you’re stuck here to wait for him to come back.

And holy shit, do you have to pee.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed today's chapter, don't forget to leave kudos, comments, and subscribe!


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